


in some sad way i already know

by 152glasslippers



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Frank POV, Grief/Mourning, Loss of a sibling, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, only rated teen for the swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/152glasslippers/pseuds/152glasslippers
Summary: “Today’s my brother’s birthday.”Frank stopped scrubbing the frying pan in his hands, a sinking feeling slowly making its way through his bloodstream, leaving him breathless, waiting for his heart to drop.“He would have been 30.”There it was.Post-season 1 of The Punisher. Frank finds out about Karen's brother.**not season 3 Daredevil compliant





	in some sad way i already know

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this and having a bad day, this is for you. I hope Frank comforting Karen cheers you up a bit.

As soon as she opened the door, he could tell she hadn’t wanted to. But she did, because he was the one knocking.

It was the first time he had ever just…stopped by like this, unannounced.

_You sure know how to pick ‘em, Frank_ , said a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Curtis.

She was wearing an old, over-sized Vermont College sweatshirt and black sweatpants that made her legs look even longer. The only light in the apartment came from the glow of a lamp that she’d left on in her bedroom. The shadows made her look even paler. Her eyes were red and swollen, even in the low light, and her hair was matted, duller than the way it hung around her face after the bomb.

She stepped aside while she held the door open, closed it behind him. She turned to him with her arms crossed, closing herself off, holding herself together.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Sorry to, uh, drop in on you like this. Just got out of group and wanted to return this.” Frank pulled the slim paperback copy of _Home_ she’d lent him out of his back pocket. “You were right. It was a…” He cleared his throat. “…tough read. But it was worth it.”

The ghost of a smile crossed Karen’s lips, like she was pleased with his assessment.

“You need another one?”

“Nah, Curt’s got me covered this round.”

He lay the book on the end table next to her couch. The silence stretched between them while he watched her and she avoided his gaze, the room almost unbearably still.

“You want some company?” he asked finally.

She looked at him then.

“No, Frank,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, at odds with the pain and sadness in her eyes. He could feel her about to say “I’m okay” but then she seemed to reconsider, closing her mouth on the words.

_Good girl. Don’t lie._

“No,” she said again, softer, ducking her head even more, her chin almost tucked against her chest.

Hiding from him.

It was unsettling, creeping under his skin and making him sick, but he’d respect her wishes.

For now.

“Mind if I come check on you tomorrow?”

“You don’t need to do that.”

But he did. He really did.

He didn’t respond, just watched her for another minute before closing the distance between them. He hesitated for a second, brushed his lips across her cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her, his voice low, close to her ear. And then he headed for the door, seeing himself out.

He heard the lock click into place behind him, and he let the metallic sound soothe his rapidly fraying nerves. At least she was still keeping herself safe.

\---

Frank Castle wasn’t an idiot. He may have taken a couple bullets to the head, but his brain was still in decent enough shape. He wasn’t stupid.

It wasn’t lost on him that as much as he knew about Karen, there was at least four times as much he didn’t know. There was never any telling what she’d share and no knowing what she wouldn’t—they weren’t the type to ask too many direct questions. They didn’t press on each other’s open wounds.

But it also didn’t take a genius to figure he knew more than most. He knew the day-to-day; he knew details, and she’d never been shy with him about her feelings. She was so open, so defiant in her vulnerability that sometimes he forgot she was just as private as anyone else: waiting until no one was looking to fall apart.

And she had a right to her secrecy—he wouldn’t ask—but she’d also been so unlike the Karen he did know, it scared the shit out of him.

So there he was at her door the next night, just like he said he would be.

But she wasn’t answering.

He pulled his current burner from his pocket, dialed her number from memory.

She wasn’t answering that, either.

He stopped himself from kicking the door down—just barely. There was the slight chance she wasn’t home, and if she was—and she was in as bad shape as yesterday—the last thing he wanted was for her to have to worry about fixing a busted door frame or installing a new lock.

Which left the window in her bedroom off the fire escape.

He turned around, retraced his steps back down the hallway, tried to keep a normal pace down the stairs and around the building. Her window would be—better be—locked but it was closer to the interior of her apartment. He’d bang on it until she heard him, even if she wasn’t in her bedroom.

He took the stairs on the fire escape two at a time, panic creeping up on him with each flight. He made it to her window, heart racing, breathing just barely under control—

And he wanted to punch himself in the face for being such an irrational asshole.

She was in bed.

The angle from the far side of the window just brought her into view. He dropped his head to the glass, the surface cooling the sweat on his forehead.

But she didn’t look right.

She was still but not sleeping, her eyes open, staring blankly at the opposite wall while she lay on her side. He caught the movement of her legs under the blankets, just inside his point of view.

What the fuck was he doing here standing outside her window, watching her like a goddamn pervert? How the hell had she not noticed him yet?

He took a step back from the window, almost turned around, almost left the way he came, let her keep her secrets, whatever was keeping her bedridden, to herself.

Fuck that.

Karen wanted to make him see sense? She wanted to barrel into his life, shove photos in his face, pull him—drag him—out of his misery? Out of his despairing, self-loathing bullshit?

Then he wasn’t about to leave her alone in hers.

He planted himself in the spot where he’d be most visible to her, raised a hand, and knocked.

She didn’t stir at first. He knocked again.

He watched her lift her head in alarm, eyes darting to the window, following the sound as he rapped again. Watched her features transform as she realized it was him, watched her come alive for just a second, exasperation—the kind he knew only he could draw out of her—flashing across her face.

She climbed out of bed and opened the window. She didn’t move to let him in.

“Something wrong with the door?” she asked angrily. It was the most emotion he’d heard in her voice yet.

He didn’t take the bait.

“You didn’t answer,” he said quietly.

She looked taken aback by that, like she hadn’t realized the hole she’d dug herself was that deep. She turned away from him, walked a few paces toward the bed. He followed her in, pulled the window shut, locked it. When he turned around, she was facing him, her arms crossed. Again.

“What are you doing here, Frank?” Weary, exhausted. Any trace of the fight left in her, gone.

“I don’t think it’s that much of a mystery, Karen.”

They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, and then she closed her eyes like she was too tired for any more of it, didn’t have the energy. Giving up, giving in. It was the most alarming thing she’d done so far.

She rounded the corner of the bed and crawled back under the blankets, resumed her position curled up on her side, facing the window.

Facing him.

Before he could talk himself out of it or run through all the reasons it was a bad idea, all the ways it could go wrong, Frank Castle sat down on the edge of Karen Page’s bed and took his boots off.

He left them there, standing sentry at the foot of the bed, unzipped his jacket, tossed it over a chair in the corner, and lay down next to her. Flat on his back, hands on his stomach, eyes on the ceiling.

Which was why it took him a minute to realize she was crying.

He heard her breathing change, felt her shaking next to him. He turned his head to look at her. She had her eyes screwed shut and a hand over her mouth, smothering her cries.

“Hey.” He reached out and tugged her hand from her face, wrapping his fingers around hers and keeping them there. Her mouth pressed into a flat line, holding it all in. “Hey. Shh. You don’t gotta do that, shh.”

And then he let go of her hand to pull her toward him on the bed, blankets and all, until she was flush against his side, her body half on top of his.

It was enough to shatter whatever control she had left.

The sobs broke out of her, shocking the silence of the apartment around them. She muffled them against his chest, her fingers curling around the neckline of his shirt, her knuckles cold against his skin. He dropped a kiss to her forehead and pulled her closer, held her tighter, his arms circled around her waist.

They just stayed there, like that, buried in each other. Karen cried, and Frank took it all in, her scent, her touch, her tears. This woman who made him feel not so alone.

Eventually, her sobs faded, but he could still feel her tears soaking his shirt, and then those stopped, too, and the hand gripping his collar shifted, and Karen pushed herself up to look him in the eye.

He lifted a hand to push her hair back from where it fell across her face, and her eyes somehow got impossibly sadder before she closed them and lay her forehead against his. He wanted to say thank you, for letting herself sink against him, for letting him be the one to hold her up for once, but he didn’t want to disturb the moment, so he kept his mouth shut. And for a while, it was just the two of them, closed off from the world, breathing the same air.

She was the first to pull away, a habit he desperately wanted to rid her of. Then again, now that he’d given into it and after everything he’d been through—they’d been through—he was probably incapable of being the one to let go.

Karen sat up, and his hand trailed after her, coming to rest on her knee. She turned on her bedside lamp, casting the room in the same yellow light as the night before, and crossed her legs underneath her. He stayed where he was, stretched out next to her. She tucked her hair behind her ears and looked down at him self-consciously.

“I must look like hell.”

He shook his head against the pillow.

“I’ve been through hell. Didn’t look anything like you.”

And for the first time since he’d knocked on her door yesterday, she smiled.

\---

Karen got up to take a shower, leaving Frank alone in her bed—with no instructions to leave—but he dragged himself out of it once he heard the bathroom door shut. Now that he knew what it was to be in her bed, he also knew what it was not to want to leave it, but he also didn’t want to be laying there waiting for her when she got out of the shower.

Not today, anyway.

He wandered into the kitchen in his socks. Flicked the coffee maker on, opened the refrigerator to take stock. She might be hungry when she was done showering, and she should probably eat regardless. He doubted whether she’d eaten anything in the last 36 hours.

He started the eggs when he heard the bathroom door open so that by the time Karen walked out of her bedroom wearing another pair of black sweatpants—this pair was tighter, clinging to her legs more snugly—and a soft pink sweater, her wet hair gathered over one shoulder, he was sliding a hot plate toward her, a fresh cup of coffee already waiting next to it. He could feel her eyes on his back as he pushed the rest of the eggs onto a second plate.

“Thought you should eat.”

“Thank you, Frank.”

When he turned back around, she was sitting at the island, but she hadn’t taken a bite, her fork still clean and untouched on the counter in front of her, her eyes still watching him like she was waiting to see what he’d do next. He set his plate down across from her, next to his already half-empty coffee cup, and gestured at her plate with his fork.

“Eat.” And then he took a bite of his own eggs.

He ate standing up, the island between them. Karen didn’t invite him to sit, didn’t ask him to take the seat next to her, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to keep her in his direct line of sight, too.

The shower seemed to have brought her back to herself. She asked him about the new book Curtis had given him, about David and Sarah and the kids. He still had no idea what had brought on the change in her the last two days, so he didn’t bring up work, and he didn’t ask about Mitchell or Nelson. He didn’t mention anything about what had happened in her bedroom, and neither did she.

Until Frank was elbow deep in soapy water, washing the few dishes they’d dirtied, and Karen was nursing her second cup of coffee, still in her seat at the island.

“Today’s my brother’s birthday.”

Frank stopped scrubbing the frying pan in his hands, a sinking feeling slowly making its way through his bloodstream, leaving him breathless, waiting for his heart to drop.

“He would have been 30.”

There it was.

He closed his eyes against her words, felt them in the pit of his stomach. He reached for the dish towel on the counter next to him, dried his hands, turned around slowly.

She had her hands wrapped around her coffee mug and, remarkably, a smile in her eyes.

“He had a thing about his 30th birthday. We had all these plans. He was obsessed with it because it was his golden birthday.”

Frank shook his head, not following.

“It’s the…” Karen rolled her eyes fondly, waved a hand dismissively, but it felt directed more at her brother’s excitement than his confusion. “…the birthday when you turn the same age as the day of the month you were born.”

She let out a small laugh, almost a sigh, a frown forming between her eyes. And then it was gone, and she was talking again.

“He always said we’d be old enough to celebrate in style. A huge, extravagant party. He wanted gold everything. Gold floors, gold ceiling, gold chandeliers. Everyone dressed in gold. Gold jewelry, gold suits.” She looked far away from the kitchen now, her eyes no longer on his. “‘I’ll have made my first million by then.’ He never did say doing what.” Her eyes flickered to his and then away again. “He just wanted to get out.”

Karen stopped talking, still distant. Frank took a step forward, resting his palms against the edge of the island.

“His birthday’s not usually like this.” Her eyes snapped back to his. “I’m not usually like this. It’s been 14 years—” _Shit._ He’d been a kid. Only 16. “I’ve gotten good at it. Mostly, the future you’re mourning, it’s…it’s ambiguous. Things you expected to happen, things you hoped for them. And that’s part of what you lose, getting to see the life they would have led. There aren’t many days when you know what you’re missing at the exact moment you would have been a part of it. But today…” She trailed off, took a deep breath. “Today, I know exactly where I would have been. Or, exactly where he wanted to be.”

Her eyes stayed trained on his. They watched each other for a moment. Her knuckles were white against her mug.

“What was his name?”

She smiled, but this one never made it to her eyes. “Kevin.”

“Happy birthday, Kevin.”

She had been so calm, so steady the entire time she spoke, but now she looked close to tears.

“I never wanted to make you deal with this. I wasn’t even going to say anything. It was such a long time ago, and it’s not like—”

“Not like what?” He interrupted her, voice sharp. “Not like losing your wife? Or your kids?” He rounded the island so he was standing next to her. “He was your family, Karen. He was your brother. All the mistakes, all the heartache, all that messy life bullshit, he was supposed to be there for that. By your side. That’s who a brother is.” At least, that was how he felt about the brothers he’d found. “You’d known him your whole life. I never had that. I can’t even imagine what that’s like. So don’t—don’t act for a second like it’s not important enough or it doesn’t matter.”

He froze, something clicking into place. He couldn’t believe it’d taken him this long. Maybe he was an idiot.

“Is that why you kicked me out yesterday?”

Finally, some of that signature Karen-Page defiance lit up her eyes.

“I did not kick you out.”

“No, you’re too damn polite for that. But you didn’t let me stay.”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye again.

“I don’t have the monopoly on grief, Karen. You don’t have to hide it from me.” He ducked his head, trying to meet her eye. “I don’t want you to. That’s not how this works.”

She looked up. “How what works, Frank?” she whispered.

“This. You and me.”

Karen’s eyes grew big as she stared at him. He wasn’t even sure he’d meant to say it, but the hell with it. No backing down now.

“Don’t make me leave you like that again. Please. I won’t—I won’t survive it.”

He was pleading, and he could hear the way his voice was almost breaking, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t anything she shouldn’t have already known. She didn’t need to go another second without knowing it.

The look in her eyes was a little too much to handle, more than a little overwhelming.

“Deal?” he asked, lighter than he felt. He let one corner of his mouth quirk up.

She didn’t answer, just pulled him to her, her arms around his neck, her face tucked over his shoulder. His hands closed around her immediately, instinctively, like a reflex, but it felt different than their other hugs. Less restrained, somehow. Like he was free to pour every ounce of feeling into it, instead of holding back just enough that she wouldn’t know how much she really meant to him.

He’d all but told her now.

Karen seemed to feel the same. He felt her lips against his ear, felt her answer “deal” more than he heard it. And then she was locking her legs around his waist, pressing her body to his, bringing him impossibly closer.

This time, she didn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
